Well incase you don't know my name is Bridgett, and I'm a werewolf, a teenage virgin werewolf at that. I had to kill my sister Ginger. She was the first of our family to become. She was the beautiful one, the one who had the curse not happened to us could have made an amazing horror film start, sexy and willing to die a horrible death on cue. We were the odd ones at school, not that anyone is really "normal" in high school but we were above and beyond odd. We had a fascination with death and depression, we even made films and pictorials about how we would die an early death at the age of 16. Our parents got used to finding fake body parts and blood all over the lawn and in the garage. We made our home in the basement, we slept on identical twin beds, a homage to our sisterly love. Our promise to each other was single out or dead by sixteen either way we would go together. I guess I didn't ever think it would ever come to the death part and defiantly not ending with me being alone.
We were polar opposites in looks I am skinny and sickly pale with a big nose and large dark eyes, long stringy black hair that I could hide behind seemed to be my camouflage for life. Ginger on the other hand while she choose to dress to try to evaporate while standing out she defiantly got the looks in the family. Fittingly enough she had ember red hair that always seemed to fly around her head like fire. She had the same pale skin that I do but it seemed more healthy and natural on her. It brought out her eyes and her smirking smile. She was a beauty that was to be reckoned with even before the turning. The night she was attacked we were going to get revenge on some Barbie wanna be who had insulted us. We were saved by a pot smoking "hottie" (he hit the were with his van and killed it) who ended up giving me a slow moving antidote Monks Hood. Shooting it up helped to stop the change….I would assume that the poison somehow kills off of the werewolf infection that there by slows down the change. The said hottie was killed by my sister. In a last ditch effort to save my sister I shared blood with her, cutting our hands in sisterly blood bonding thinking that if I got the infection too that maybe I could control her. I was wrong. In the end I had to kill her…..my guilt never ending for destroying the only person who understood me.
Of course being alone and trying to poison the infection out of me I ended up being caught after allowing a well meaning man help me. He was killed brutally by a male were who was stalking me. The need to mate is strong in our species, he held on more humanity he was completely animal and needed to reproduce. I still poisoned myself, cutting my thighs along with it and journaling how long it took me to heal. Wares heal fast and I was healing faster and faster. I was put in an institution for drug addition funded by a hospital. If course he found me there, and took the institution dog and some of its patients. I was stalked and "befriended" by a child named Ghost, she led me out of the institution and to her and her grandmothers home. The entire incident ended badly. In the end Ghost locked me in her cellar, her mind a warped landscape of fantasy and comic characters based on who she wants to be. I was to be her protector and servant. Her Hell Hound to eradicate her enemies…..Little did she know Werewolves have enemies of their own and anyone who would try to subdue them is considered top of the list…….